Never Trust A Stranger
by Izumine Kisamine
Summary: The crowd cheered and threw all sorts of things at him. He would have dodged them, threw them back, or sworn in his native tongue had he been able to. But as Antonio swung from the rope, his breathing becoming near impossible, his mind flashed back to the few months before this mess. Not my best work, please don't expect this to be awesome...


The crowd cheered and threw all sorts of things at him. He would have dodged them, threw them back, or sworn in his native tongue had he been able to. But as Antonio swung from the rope, his breathing becoming near impossible, his mind flashed back to the few months before this mess. He thought back to before the jeering masses, to before he had known of this world, the underworld, back to when he was still, if you would believe it, innocent.

This whole thing had stated when his gaze collided with that of Arthur Kirkland. The Spaniard was going about his business in the port as he did every day, when his eyes fell upon a newcomer to the dock. Antonio had never seen this man before, and he certainly didn't look like he was from around here. For a start, he was blonde, with stunning emerald eyes. Nobody in his neighbourhood had a light complexion. Then there was his clothes; brown bucket-top boots that looked very expensive, and his claret red coat that was draped over his shoulders was decorated with gold braid; also very pricy. His brown tricorn hat, complete with red and white feathers, cast a dark shadow over his face, making his eyes seem like they were glowing. Antonio, by nature, was a curios fellow, so naturally he crossed the busy walkway to stand beside the flashy looking newcomer. "Excuse me, amigo?" He asked in English. Of course, it wasn't his first language, but with Britain ruling most of the world, chances were that he would speak at least a little bit of English. "You're not from around here, are you?"

The strange man looked up from the sword he was inspecting. He placed it back down on the table and nodded to the elderly dealer, who promptly took the blade and wrapped it in leather. Then the blonde turned and looked to Antonio, smirking. "No, I'm afraid I'm not." Antonio flinched. The man was English, with a distinct upper-class English accent.

"Oh, alright, well, gracias." The brunette waved, shrugged and was about to turn and walk back to the stall he was at before when a hand fell onto his shoulder.

"Hey, sorry to ask such a thing of a total stranger, but would you perhaps consider joining my crew?" the Spaniard was taken aback a little by the Brit's strange request.

Thinking back on it now, he should have said no. He should have ignored the winning smile, the confident aura and the mystery that surrounded that man. But he didn't; he said yes and joined the man's crew. It turns out that the man was actually a notorious pirate, by the name of Arthur Kirkland. He had been a great sailor in the British navy, rising all the way to the top before one day he left it all. He disappeared for a month or so, nobody heard from him or saw him and soon they began to forget about him. Then one day he reappeared, as a pirate. And now he was a wanted man, known all the way around the globe, for piracy, crimes against the crown and such. You name it, he'd been charged with it. Although he had never been punished for any of his crimes. He was a man on the run, but Antonio couldn't help but feel like he wanted to get to know the Brit. And he was right, the two didn't have much in common to begin with, but the more they talked and travelled the world together, the more they found things they both could talk about, like their hatred of the English Monarchy, their love of the sea and how they loathed their cheese eating neighbours.

Apparently Arthur's crew was very small. In fact, Antonio _was_ the crew. He learned that the rogue seaman liked to travel light and because he had so much treasure on the ship that meant he had to cut down on human weight.

That's when it properly started, Antonio recalled. They sailed around the globe, and Antonio quickly fell into the role of assistant to Arthur; he would commit the minor crimes, the things the Englishman had no time for, and then he would go out and buy supplies for the two of them. Then they would clear out the nearest bar and share a drink or two and put the world to rights, discussing anything and everything that flitted across their minds. Over a few weeks with this new little routine, the pair got to know each other incredibly well, they became almost inseparable and made there way over most of the planet, save for a few countries that had a bounty on Arthur's head. And soon enough, there was a price on Antonio's head as well.

Once they had done it all, seen everywhere and robbed almost everyone, it came up in conversation one evening that Arthur wanted to go home to England, as it was the one place they had barely spent any time in. Antonio agreed and they set their course for Portsmouth. It took a few days, but they got there eventually, and soon made their home in one of Arthur's old haunts; an abandoned Public House near the port.

It went belly up from there. The duo soon gained somewhat of a reputation in the town, and everyone was on the look out for them.

And that was how Antonio ended up jumping the long drop from a short rope. He had been careless one day and been caught. Arthur had slipped out of the way before he could get collared as well.

"Typical." Antonio thought as his consciousness slipped away from him. "You think someone's good, but when it comes to it they only care about saving their own ski- Que?" Although Antonio couldn't quite see properly, he could just about make out the scene around him; down in the public gallery was a flash of red quickly making its way up to the gallows. The red thing raised one arm and a pistol fired. Next thing Antonio knew he was on the floor. His hands instantly went to loosen the noose from his neck. He clumsily loosened the knot and soon his vision snapped into focus. In front of him was stood the one man that he never expected to see again.

"You alright there, love?"

As he wearily got to his feet, Antonio glared daggers at Arthur, who looked like the smuggest person on the face of the planet at that moment.

"You took your time, amigo."

Arthur cocked his head to one side, apparently oblivious to the chaos around them, and took his left hand out from behind his back. In his fist, he was holding a coat. It was similar to his own, but it was made of dark navy blue fabric. "I know you said you've been wanting a coat for ages. Here."

The Spaniard wasn't sure what to think, but he decided that Arthur meant well, and he had just saved his life.

"Thanks." The brunette sighed, a small smile still playing on his lips. He slid his arm into the sleeves and shrugged the garment on properly. It fitted him like a glove.

"So," Arthur grinned, "Pub?"

_**~X~X~X~X~X~X~**_

_**My brain farted and this happened, please, ignore me~**_

_**~IK~**_


End file.
